


Matthew Is Gone (Reboot)

by Phanapple



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phanapple/pseuds/Phanapple
Summary: Matthew Williams was a person so good natured he deserved the world. But instead, he's been torn from his own and locked in one of cement, chains, sedatives, and blurry faced figures. Will he ever return to the place he knew and loved? And more importantly, will he want to by the end of his capture?Reboot of a years old story of mine because I'm hype for season 7, still figuring out how it's going to play out so tags, warnings, and the description will be updated as I go.
Relationships: Canada/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a story I published and dropped back in 2018. I've long since orphaned the original, and since I still like writing and never got to figure out what I wanted to do with this story, here we are! Updates coming at the speed I want, which may be a day or an eternity, but I genuinely hope that my writing has improved and y'all like it!

He was a good kid. He ate his peas, aced his report cards, came home on time, and never thought about skipping a minute of school. He was a weekend volunteer at the soup kitchen and fed stray dogs on his walks home. He diffused fights and kept the peace with a contagious smile and a tub of maple syrup ice cream in hand. The worst he’d ever done was trying weed with of his hockey teammates, and even then, he did no harm carrying that same team to the regional finals. And he did it all with no expectations, only good intentions. He was a kind and capable soul, and deserved only the good things that came to him.

So needless to say, it was a shock when Alfred Jones’s phone rung at 2 in the morning that day of winter. It was a shock when Gilbert screeched from the other end of the line, an incoherent mess of babbling and tears. And it was a shock when Alfred could finally make out the words his friend was gagging on.

**MATTHEW IS GONE.**


	2. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for a short emotional rollercoaster before we get into the nitty gritty.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?! YOU SPOKE ON THE PHONE WITH HIM LAST NIGHT DIDN’T YOU?!” Alfred could only dart his tear-filled eyes away from the piercing gaze of his father, Arthur, who loomed over him trembling with rage and anxiety. “I-I… I didn’t…” Alfred started, his head hanging. “I, I’d seen him around campus a few times. He had friends, he looked happy… He looked safe. It felt like there was no need for me to big brother him since he was doing so well.” He looked up to Arthur for only a split-second but immediately felt goosebumps spark up on every part of his body.

 _Dad’s right,_ he thought to himself as his father paced the floor of his dorm. Matthew had worked harder than anything in his life so he could follow his older brother to university. That was the whole point. They knew he was too timid to be alone in a new environment, but too talented to waste his education starting at a junior college. _He came here so you could watch out for him, YOU IDIOT!_ he screamed in his head. The deal was just to check in on him every night, see how his classes were and make sure he was with a good crowd. It was simple, something he’d have to do once a day for five minutes. And yet it would be lying if he said he didn’t get bored of it quick. The last time he’d seen his brother around was two weeks before. But the last time Alfred had actually taken the time from his schedule to say a word to Matthew even in passing was over a month ago.

Arthur continued to pace the floor, his switch flipping back and forth from anger to worry. He couldn’t even look at the son sitting before him knowing full well that the other was out in who knows where. Every time he stopped talking and found the words to spit, one look at Alfred and he could only clam up. “D-Dad, he might be okay still. He might’ve gone camping or on a hike or-” “ALFRED FRANKLIN! A hike? A HIKE? From what I understand, Matthew hasn’t been seen on campus in one week.” The veins on his forehead began to pulsate. “He hasn’t spoken to Francis, Gilbert, myself, and much less you in that same time. All of his possessions are in his dorm and his car is still in the garage, BUT YOU WANT TO THINK HE’S ON A HIKE!”

As soon as the last word left his mouth, Arthur’s body took over. He stretched out his arm and grabbed the nearest thing. A gold statue the size of his arm with a football player statuette atop it. Before he or Alfred could think, he’d launched it full force at a wall far from his son, but hard enough that the glass it was built on shattered.

The room was the most silent it had been in the past hour. Arthur, sweating, panting, and disheveled looked at the scene he’d made. Alfred quaked in his chair, knees to his chest the way he and Matthew had when the two watched horror movies or heard sounds in the night. With this head buried behind his folded arms, Arthur could hear nothing but garbled mumbling and sniffles coming from the boy. “Alfred,” he started, calming himself down.

No response but mumbling.

“Alfred, son. I, I’m sorry. That was out of line.” Still no response.

He walked closer, his anger peeling back and revealing regret. As he came to his son’s side, he could make could some of the words that choked him.

“I, I, I, I was… I was his hero… what kind of brother am I? W-where is he? I’m, m, m s-so scared Dad. I’m s-s- “Arthur wrapped his arms around his son. He held to him as tightly as he had when he’d first been born. “I’m sorry, Alfred. I’m so sorry, it’s my fault, too. I don’t, I just- Wherever he is, I know he’ll be alright. He knows we love him, and we know he loves us.” Alfred’s stifled weeping eventually filled the room, a ghostly wail that echoed in the halls of the dormitory. Eventually, the tears that Arthur didn’t even know he’d been holding back began to trail down the side of his own face. And the two stayed that way for hours, mourning the missing child and brother they never knew they’d need to.

_Matthew please, please be out there,_ they both thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever since I've written sad America and England, I don't even know if this is out of character by fanfic standards.


	3. Chapter 3 Sneak Peak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of feeling on a roll and since the first two chaps were super short and didn't actually feature our sweet Canadian boy, here's a preview of what's in the works for Chapter 3. I'm hoping to make this chapter alone hit 750 words.

Weak. Alone. Exhausted. Terrified.

The words rung painfully in his head like a church bell overhead. It could’ve been days. It could’ve been weeks. It could’ve just been hours and he would’ve never known. For all he could be sure of, he could even be dead, and this was the hell God planned out for him.

The room was completely dark, and he only knew it was a small room because every scream and beckon for help that escaped from his now throat, the sounds of his pathetic voice echoed back at him from the walls. Every part of his body was far from functioning. He was forced to stay on his hands and knees by metal cuffs of his wrists and ankles that bolted him to the ground, and wasn’t afforded the luxury of resting his head because of the metal collar on his neck chained either to the ceiling or the wall behind him. He’d vomited twice, once from sickness and the second time from being stuck hanging above the scent of his own expulsion. He hadn’t counted how many times he’d pissed himself already, but because of how frozen his legs felt from being stuck in pants doused in cold urine, he could guarantee it was a lot.

At one point, he held out home. He truly believed it was some kind of dirty prank by his teammates, or that even if he really had been abducted, his disappearance would be immediately noticed. The first few dreams he had in the place were of his brother bursting through and unseen door with their fathers and an army. Eventually, those dreams became nothing more than false hope and he staved himself from sleep to avoid them. All that did was give way to the nightmares and delusions. He envisioned his fate here, as a murder victim, or a toy of torture. He heard the voices of the ones he loved, bouncing off the walls and into his head, taunting him for ending up here and speaking their peace about how little he’d be missed. Telling fantasy from reality was hard enough, with a stomach that’d been devoid for so long. And without even being able to see, it was near impossible.

“Ahhhhhhhhahaa!!! PLEASE LET ME OUT, PLEASE!” He screamed once again. “I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M HERE! IF I’M MEANT TO DIE KILL ME NOW! OR PLEASE, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TURN ON THE LIGHTS!”

He waited for the echo of his voice to fade and stifled the coughs from his rasped throat. _Maybe this time._


End file.
